


Mea Culpa

by rAdiantOrdam



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rAdiantOrdam/pseuds/rAdiantOrdam
Summary: What was it? Two months? One year? One day? His instinct tells him fifteen years, and perhaps he's only been to the future...because it never took him fifteen years.





	

Rafe had thought about all the situations the trio could possibly get into in prison; he's always held this instinct that if he thinks, or in other words, pretending to "predict" something, in exact detail, it won't happen. Of course, he doesn't think about every scenario; he knows he -can't- think about every scenario. At least he has an idea about the amount of scenarios possible: it is infinite. 

With that of course, not everything is perfect.

He thinks it's quite obvious they will get into multiple fights.

But he doesn't predict for them to come back for a rematch.

And just when the trio had prepared to leave, they hear a suspicious whistle from a man by the name of Gustavo, revealing himself and his gang behind a corner, and Rafe's mind hollers, "What's plan B? What's plan B?" 

And of course, their great expectations just had to cross paths with reality.

Since he didn't predict that, Rafe didn't predict Vargas would find the cross tucked in Nathan's back pocket. 

Speaking of which, even before that he didn't predict that Vargas would find out about their plan. 

He didn't predict the warden to threaten them for a deal in the value. 

Evidently, he knew he didn't predict his own actions - that he, himself, would stab Vargas - with his own hands. 

He didn't predict that the whole prison would be thrashing out after them on the rooftops with bullets. 

He didn't predict that one of those bullets would hit Sam. Then he's single-handedly clasping onto a ledge for dear life.

In the moment, Rafe -could have- dived right next to Nate and be the aid who could've lended his hand and save the helpless life of struggling brother. But he didn't, and the fact is always berating him. 

Because that's when he only predicted something correctly: Sam would fall. He would fall because of Rafe. 

He does. And Sam doesn't get back up, and as much as Rafe doesn't want to believe it, he predicts that Sam never will get back up.

.......................

It's mere hours after he saw him fall, knowing that Sam could no longer climb up from that fall. On the ride to the hotel, Rafe and Nate both act as if its parallel to their plans, as if nothing happened when their paths had already run into a precisely perpendicular cut, turning backwards as Sam lets go. Rafe doesn't know if he's struck with pure shock or exhaustion, but he's suffocating from it, and it narrowly shows when he drives. He is barely grateful of the fact that he's not Nate, who was not simply suffering, but drowning. And no one knows if he's just refusing to let his tears flood, or if they'd already dried. 

_"You have reached your destination."_

The elevator ride was no different, and so were the few steps to the room itself. It's unbearably silent, and until Nathan catches up to Rafe through the door, Rafe's voice is lacking sympathy as his eyes were when he stabbed Vargas. "Shut the damn door." He placidly demands. He expects the other man to mockingly mirror him, but Nathan obeys like a well-raised house dog. But Rafe can see right into the resent and anger on the glare in Nathan's barely visible eyes that speak to him. 

_"It's all your fault."_

He hears it, as audible and direct it can be, but his ears hear no sound waves. 

_If you must wait,_

Rafe has the immediate impulse to aggressively defend himself, and he's known for having a sharp tongue. And maybe in another dimension, he did defend himself on aggression, but in this dimension, he forces it to balance. 

_Wait for them here in my arms as I shake._

 

Nathan has good restraint, to this point, but it's almost a dare to Rafe to say even "sorry" because the moment is so fragile, as if any word could break the bridge that holds together the tension. To hold back is unexpectedly difficult, and it's the anticipating carbon dioxide in his lungs that were trying to forcing his lips apart.

_If you must mourn, my love,_

"It wasn't my fault," Rafe finally exhales. 

_Mourn with the moon and the stars up above._

It's done flatly, with what seemed like great effort, and immediately, the confidence he had is replaced by fearful regret, expecting a massive blow to his right side of his head, but he only finds this alarm useless because the blow never arrived...the way he expected it to arrive. 

 

_If you must mourn,_

Rafe's ears perk up at instantaneous alarm when Nathan abruptly stands. In reaction, he also stands with a slight flinch. So, he tries to be reasonable. 

"Look, Nate-" 

He sighs, wishing that he never spoke those two syllables, but he can't take them back and he thinks about the efforts in vain. He's already standing and presenting himself like a man preparing speech. Rafe hesitates before his mind arrives to the conclusion that continuing is the only best thing he can do.

"Just forget it." He hears the other man reply, in such a desolate voice that Rafe would've never guessed was from the once cheeky and cocky Nathan; the one who had a smirk nearly unwipeable from his face. Rafe still itches to continue, with precaution.

"Nate. You and I...we make a good team, especially on this. You got that ol' historical knowledge, I got the money that's been making our wallets fat, and...we both have the skill. You know that. Your brother, Sam...he just-"

He's about open his mouth to say another word, and then he delays himself, because what his brain told him to say was nearly like a degrading label to a...friend; that the words crawling up his voice box looked down upon Sam like a fallen tool, that- And then it surprises Rafe. He was raised on logic, with an attitude like granite when living on the facts. It surprises him that he, a man of...what he thought was a man of reason, would be stopped by a subtle moment of a moral emotion and made reluctant to voice something. He thinks, why should he be so sensitive?

"It's a matter of survival of the fittest, and Sam wasn't able to match up."

The words come out without forecast; and he questions his belief on those words, but maybe it was true, he tells himself. Maybe he and Nate were the only ones who survived for a reason. _Natural selection,_ he infers falsely. Yet he already knows his thoughts are just toying with him...or he is just toying with his thoughts, that he was aware of this all along, like he was just innovating a question to an answer he already sees, _The hell was he thinking?_ He knows from the start that not one of the thoughts in his head was true, that he _shouldn't_ think of a partner as a destined burden who has sacrificed themselves - nor as a weak pack member to look down upon complacently...and _how dare he._

He pretends that Nathan also knows that he's just monologuing out of defense, and with all candidness, he does not know if Nate does. When Rafe realizes that the other man doesn't say nor act on anything, he believes that it will remain that way. Yet, at the next instance, Nathan turns around as quick as a whip that Rafe could nearly hear the crack and his hands clamp around Rafe's shoulders firmly like a puzzle piece, bulldozing him backwards as Rafe does the same to push him off. Both men were high and low, wrestling and standing solid like two male antelope during mating season.

_Don't do it alone._

It's an ongoing stampede, a continuous game of tug-of-war that no man has the motive to throw anything else. 

_If you must fight,_

Rafe was at a mere inch from Nathan, and when he sees the intense folds morphing on the other's face, blood pumping crimson with obstinate outrage, and heavy, forceful breaths leaving his nostrils like a bull, Rafe wholeheartedly finds it to scare him. It's not just scary, it's outright terrifying for a moment that even Rafe's signature, hard look on his face softens to the level of a surprised child. 

_Fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night._

He doesn't know if it is Nathan's hardening rage that shocks him, or if it is the quantity of pure emotion Nathan carries in front of him. 

_If you must work,_

In a rush of adrenaline, Rafe attempts to throw the man backwards, making him stumble jaggedly. 

_Work to leave some part of you on this earth._

He predicts Nathan to rush back on his feet and start the belligerent cycle again, but he is wrong once more and lets go of his defense when the man clenches his jaw aggressively in defeat and gradually crumples to floor with an anguished face as wrinkled as a newborn's. 

_If you must live, darling one,_

_Just live, ___

And as he helplessly bleats and mourns his brother for hours, it is heartbreaking; as aggravating as it is, Rafe cannot find the heart to chide him for his hopeless cries. 

__

_Just live, ___

"Sam...Sam...Sam...oh god."

_Just live._

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first plot-driven fanfic I've written for the uncharted series. I don't have much time to do my writing so it'll probably take quite some time for the preceding chapters to get posted. 
> 
> The song of the lyrics used is "You" by Keaton Henson.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!


End file.
